


The Second Time

by akitsuko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 15:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18803314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Sherlock and John make the most of an empty office at New Scotland Yard.





	The Second Time

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing but smut. Another old bit of RPF that I have repurposed as Johnlock. Undergone a cursory edit/proof-read. I have got some new fics in the works, but I've got writer's block and it's hard to get enough time to work on them at the moment.
> 
> Also, for anyone who cares at all about my personal life, I had my baby! The sleep deprivation is real, not gonna lie.

Alarm bells started to ring the moment Sherlock laid a hand on his shoulder, wordlessly guiding him in a direction other than that of the Yard’s exit. Even then, while things were still normal, John knew in his gut how things were going to progress. Nothing to suggest it but an instinct he trusted. Yet, he went along with it anyway; John wondered, as he let Sherlock lead the way to an empty office, what that said about him. To be quite honest, he would have followed Sherlock anywhere.

 

And he still managed freeze up with shock when Sherlock moved to crowd him, to back him up against the door, invading his personal space in way that ought to have been awkward and uncomfortable. It must have shown on his face that he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react; because there was a hint of superiority, and certainly a dose of smugness, mixed in with the amusement in Sherlock’s mesmerising eyes as he rested his hands on the door either side of John’s head.

 

“I’ll show you how good it can be,” Sherlock murmured, his gaze fixed on John’s lips. John licked them unconsciously, quickly, as the realization hit that he was out of his depth here. Not for lack of a safety net; Sherlock would surely back off if he said the word. Probably. But curiosity was winning out over everything else, and John was somewhat unsurprised to find that he didn’t want to say the word. He wanted this one-off encounter that Sherlock seemed to be offering, no strings, no consequences – and that was what he didn’t know how to handle.

 

It was a bit too frightening to consider the possibility that Sherlock didn’t intend this as a one-off occurrence.

 

Fortunately, Sherlock chose to take decisive and distracting action. He didn’t try to kiss him; instead he tilted his head, planted his lips on John’s neck, sucked on skin that would easily bruise with such attention. Bruises were the last thing on John’s mind. His head fell back against the door with a thud, eyes sliding half closed as he shifted to give Sherlock better access, steadying himself on his feet and supporting more of his weight with the door. Sherlock was only too happy to take advantage of the new expanse of skin being exposed; he pressed wet kisses all the way up to John’s earlobe, occasionally sinking his teeth in along the way and sending shivers tickling down the back of John’s spine.

 

By the time Sherlock pulled back, John could feel the whole right side of his neck tingling, and he was rock hard in his jeans, his erection pressing almost painfully against the zip. Not that he would have been able to hide even the slightest hint of arousal like this, not from the most observant man in the world, with Sherlock pressed against him from his chest down to his feet, rocking their bodies together at an infuriatingly slow pace. John really had to struggle against the urge to rub his cock against Sherlock’s thigh; no matter how welcome the relief would have been, he refused to throw away the few shreds of dignity he still clung to by behaving so desperately.

 

Sherlock, however, seemed intent on throwing a spanner in those works too. Sending him a smouldering glance, he dropped to his knees without a single word, and John found his mouth suddenly dry. His arms hung limply, uselessly, by his sides as Sherlock worked open his belt buckle, his trouser fastenings, and leaned forward to rest his open mouth on his cloth-covered erection. When he exhaled, warm breath travelling in waves over too-hot flesh, John honestly thought his legs might give way. It took every ounce of his concentration to stay on his feet, and there was nothing he could do to contain the low groan that escaped from his throat. Thus encouraged, Sherlock chuckled deeply – a sound that struck a dizzying chord and had John biting down on his lower lip – and pulled John’s cock free from his pants. There was barely a moment for John to register the cool air of the room hitting his overheated, throbbing erection before he discovered that Sherlock was not one for preamble.

 

The noise he let out this time was far more embarrassing – high pitched, keening – but there was nothing he could do. Sherlock had wrapped his lips around the head of his cock and flicked his tongue around experimentally, his eyes trained on John’s face, watching for the things that would cause reactions. John was sure that the faces he was making would be subject to endless mockery later, if nothing else. Then, just when he felt that he was perilously close to begging, Sherlock had mercy and moved on from the teasing flutters of his tongue. He let his jaw fall slack and slid his lips slowly further down, taking more of John as the seconds passed.

 

John, breathing heavily through his mouth and seeing bursts of light across his vision, was aware that life didn’t get much better than this. But his breath caught when Sherlock didn’t appear to be stopping, and he swore quietly, watching as best he could. And even watching couldn’t prepare him for the moment when he felt the tip hit the back of Sherlock’s throat, his entire cock engulfed in wet heat. It was as if a switch had been flipped. His hands came to life, fisting themselves in Sherlock’s soft hair, while his hips bucked forwards, and a string of only-vaguely-coherent obscenities spilled strong and fast from his mouth. Dignity be damned.

 

Sherlock took this suddenly aggressive behaviour in his stride, steadying John with hands on his thighs, hollowing his cheeks to provide suction as he let John set the pace. He watched with apparent pleasure the array of emotions displaying themselves on John’ face, the quivering muscles in John’ abdomen, the sounds John would rather never surfaced pouring with ever increasing volume into the room with them. Whenever he had a chance, he traced indiscernible patterns along the underside of John’s cock with his tongue, tightened his lips to increase the pressure, swallowed around him in a effort to draw him deeper still until John’s self control was a thing of the past.

 

John came with a full body shudder and a hoarse cry of something that might have been Sherlock’s name, his eyes clenched shut as he revelled in the sensation of Sherlock swallowing everything he had to offer. And when Sherlock decided it would be a good idea to lick him clean of any excess, John swore again, a long, low syllable that expressed everything and nothing. He gingerly released his hold on Sherlock’s hair, wanting to find it comical when it stayed sticking up in all directions but finding himself unable to think of it as anything but devastatingly attractive. As if the orgasm had sapped him of all confidence, he let his arms fall to dangle by his sides again, watching passively as Sherlock set him back to rights and hoisted himself to his feet again.

 

They stood for a long moment just staring at each other, Sherlock saying nothing and John not knowing what to say. Apart from the ruin of his hairstyle, and the tell-tale redness of his full, sinful lips, Sherlock was as composed and unreadable as ever. In comparison, John felt like an inexperienced schoolboy; he could feel a himself blushing, knew the marks on his neck would be difficult to hide, was still trying to get his breathing completely under control. At least he felt sure, as he stared at Sherlock, that his first homosexual encounter couldn’t have been a great deal better than that.

 

Then Sherlock reached for the door handle, and John moved out of the way on autopilot to let him out. That was it? He realised that discussions of feelings and emotions weren’t exactly a strength for either of them, but not to even exchange a single word seemed absurd in the aftermath of what felt like something that could be life-altering. If they wanted it to be. If they let it.

 

But he needn’t have worried. Sherlock turned around before he left and said to him, with a perfectly straight face, “Just so you know, the second time is supposed to be better than the first. That’s what people say, anyway.”

 

Then he did leave, and John was left alone and looking rather gormless in the empty room. He just hoped Sherlock intended to back that statement up at some point in the very near future.

**Author's Note:**

> No bad vibes, please!


End file.
